


Three Continents Trashcan

by LaKoda0518



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Because he's a whore..., Bisexual John Watson, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fucking Sarah but thinking of Sherlock, I have No Excuse, I promise, John Watson Has Feelings, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson fucks everyone but Sherlock to get his attention, John Watson is a Bit Not Good, John Watson is a trash panda, John Watson is literal trash, John and Sarah fuck because John wants Sherlock, M/M, No really he's trash, Pining John Watson, Please Don't Hate Me, Sextape, Shameless John Watson, Shameless Smut, Smut, Trashcan John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29762073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518
Summary: Sarah wants John... John wants Sherlock... It's a recipe for fucking disaster but neither of them cares anymore.
Relationships: Sarah Sawyer/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	Three Continents Trashcan

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I reserve the right to fight for my trashy little trash panda lol
> 
> Okay, first... I will apologize for John being an absolute trash panda lol I love him to death but he's awful in this fic... BUT, he's only doing it because he wants Sherlock. Is he stupid? Yes, most men in love usually are! (Most men are stupid in general, who am I kidding? LOL) Anyway, thank you for your support and for reading lol Please be kind!
> 
> Kudos and special thanks to my other brain CarmillaCarmine for coming up with that perfect as fuck title! All the love to you, dear! haha Thank you for the edits as well :)

John’s back hits the wall as he moans softly. His hands are gripping Sarah’s hips and the smell of her perfume envelopes him, drowning out the misery in his chest. He knows what he’s doing is wrong; he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have called her up, but he’s sick and tired of feeling unwanted. It’s difficult living with Sherlock. No one knows the silent suffering he endures, the lonely feeling of not knowing where he stands. 

A few weeks ago, he’d thought they might be getting close to a breakthrough, like all it would’ve taken was for one of them to give just a little bit and the walls they’d put up would have crumbled and all the pent up emotions would have come flooding out of them… But, lately, it seems that Sherlock doesn’t feel anything at all. These days, it’s like he’s a million miles away and John is as close to telling him how he really feels as he was the day they met. The fleeting glances have all but faded away and the lingering touches have disappeared. There are no more “accidental” brush-ups in the kitchen, no more jolts of electricity as fingertips meet when handing over a cup of tea. In fact, they don’t even touch at all now and it’s absolutely maddening but John can’t stand another awkward night at home.

Sarah’s fingers work the fastening of his belt loose and he moans once again. It feels good to have someone’s hands on him again, anticipating the feeling of acceptance and the thrill of being desired. His hips arch into her hands and he tugs at the hem of her blouse, silently asking for permission to remove it. He tries not to think about what this will do to her emotionally as his lips brush her pulse and she whimpers softly. 

The sound sends a jolt of arousal straight to his groin and he remembers the “three continents” nickname that he’d earned in the army. This isn’t personal; it’s therapy and he knows it. It’s an escape for him, a place where he can shut off his thoughts and focus on the soft feel of her hair as it slips through his fingers, even if he’s imagining dark chocolate curls in their place. It wouldn’t be the first time and, honestly, it’s not the worst thing he’s ever done.

In a single motion, John slips Sarah’s blouse up and over her head, letting it fall to the floor as he kisses her hungrily. Her lips part for him easily, her tongue darting out to meet his almost instantly, and he swallows the growl that rumbles low in his chest.  _ ‘Save that for later… ‘  _ he thinks, his attention shifting to the way her fingertips tease the waistband of his pants. The touch lingers somewhere between hesitance and impatience and he feels his cock twitch in response.

John’s eyes close involuntarily and the dominance he’d previously smothered wins out in the end. “Touch me…” he growls, nipping her ear sharply before lapping over the bite to soothe the sting. It’s a harsh gesture and he knows he’s beginning to lose sight of his moral compass but he can’t bring himself to care. He needs this; he needs to lose himself in the moment in order to feel something again. Something other than heartache and pain for a change.

Sarah gasps softly as he nips her ear but nods, leaning into his tongue before trailing kisses over his jaw. She hooks his trousers and tugs them down. John’s pants follow suit, both garments bunching up around his thighs as her fingers wrap teasingly around his cock, tugging experimentally. Another breathy moan escapes his lips and he buries himself in the sensation. It’s not the first time she’s touched him like this and it’s not the first time he’s imagined someone else in her place. 

In his mind, the entire scenario is different. He isn’t in Sarah’s bedroom or anywhere near her flat; he’s at home, pressed up against the sitting room door with his hands in Sherlock’s hair. Long violinist’s fingers replace Sarah’s gentle grip and, for a moment, John thinks he might pass out. He laps longingly into Sarah’s mouth, picturing a plush cupid’s bow in place of Sarah’s lipstick smile. He should feel bad for doing this, for treating her this way after all that she’s tolerated out of him but he doesn’t care. Not anymore. If he can’t have Sherlock the way he really wants him, he’s going to settle for having him the only way he knows how.

Sarah gasps once again, flushing softly as his left hand finds her breast. His thumb dips daringly into her bra and he flicks it expertly over her nipple. She doesn't know that he's flattening out her curves in his mind, replacing them with chiselled angles and toned muscles. In her eyes, he's completely taken with her… and that's what makes the whole scenario so horribly awful. 

It's what makes John so horribly awful.

He knows she's vulnerable to his touch. She's never been able to resist his navy blue eyes or the lop-sided grin he likes to lay on her when he knows she's close to giving in. He's done it several times before, shamelessly exploiting every weakness she has and using it to his own advantage. She's a sucker for his charms, the perfect victim for his devilish ways.

The dangerous little giggle he reserves just for moments like this bubbles up and out of him and he feels her melt against him, her entire body going limp and pliant in his arms. The sensation sends a shudder down John's spine, but he only presses the situation further, tangling his fingers in her hair. He tugs gently on the chestnut strands, teasing her bottom lip between his as he pants softly. “I want your mouth,” he answers desperately; his voice is raw with emotion even though none of it is for her. Deep down, he wonders if she can feel it but he pushes the thought away. Of course, she can — she has to. She’s always known what he feels for Sherlock and she’s known it since the night the madman accompanied them on their first date. Every single part of him belonged to Sherlock whether the detective wanted it to or not and there wasn’t much that John could do to change that fact, yet Sarah never complained. Maybe she didn’t care… or maybe she understood him better than he thought. Maybe she was just willing to ride this out for as long as he’d let her. Either way suited him just fine.

With a quiet hum, Sarah sinks to her knees. She wastes no time getting to work as she licks a wide stripe up the underside of his length before taking the head in completely. The earth-shattering sensation of warm, wet heat is nearly enough to send his mind reeling, but he isn’t given much time to dwell on it before his imagination takes off once again. Chocolate curls bounce in his mind’s eye and Sherlock’s deep baritone rumbles as he moans around John’s cock, echoing in John’s ears and forcing a whimper from his lips. Fuck what would it feel like to really have him like this? What would it be like to fuck Sherlock’s throat, coaxing feral moans and grunts from those delicate lips? Would he swirl his tongue around the tip like Sarah had just done or would he prefer to get straight to the point, sucking and hollowing out his throat from the start?

He pretends that the moans and whimpers of the woman at his feet sound deeper than they actually are, that the desperate humming around his cock is more masculine than feminine. Sherlock's hands take the place of Sarah's once again, working John’s shaft in time with the motion of his head and John fights the urge to call his name. It’s difficult, but it's better this way. Their fantasies mesh together, his and Sarah's, and everyone lives their own warped version of reality. John envisions Sherlock and a lifetime of adventure, passion-filled nights, and a thirst for one another that neither of them can fully quench. 

Sarah envisions wedding bands and domesticity; starting a family and having John in her bed every night. She's never spoken the words into existence but John knows it's true all the same. He can see it in her eyes every time she looks at him, longing for a future that he knows he'll never be able to give her. He’s never going to be what she wants him to be, yet, she still lets him take whatever he wants from her.

In truth, he's a horrible person… The worst of the worst, the lowest of the low… but the rush of his impending orgasm washes his shame away. He may be horrible, but he's horrible with her permission. If she didn't want him to do this, she'd push him away, tell him to fuck off… but she doesn't. She wants him to fuck her, wants him to use her. So, who is he to disappoint her?

His hips snap forward slightly as his cock twitches violently. "Fuck!" he moans, tightening his grip on her hair. "Close… so fucking close…"

Sarah chokes slightly. It’s a knee-jerk reaction that barely registers with John’s subconscious before she whines eagerly, shifting slightly to take more of him in as she hollows her throat. A deep groan slips from John's lips and he curses inwardly. She’s always been good at this, knowing exactly what he needed when he needed it. It’s a shame really, since he has no desire to be with her, but he takes comfort in the knowledge that Sherlock would be good at it too. How could he not be? With that brilliant mind of his, John knows the detective would be able to deduce every little turn on he could possibly possess. He would know the exact slide and pressure needed to work John over the edge and the thought of Sherlock's talented tongue dipping into his slit as he catalogues the taste of his semen is just what he needs to push him over the edge.

Sarah sucks in a breath through her nose as he tenses and John comes with a feral-sounding growl, his entire body going rigid. Every pulse of his cock sends a jolt of electricity straight through to his core; the illusion he’s created shatters like glass, leaving behind fragments of hopelessness that cut deep into his soul. His chest aches slightly, but Sarah’s fingertips brush the faint outline of his hip bone, pulling him back from the edge of ruin as she attempts to soothe him.

His softening length slips from her lips after a moment and she presses a series of gentle kisses along the soft crease of his inner thigh. The kisses linger on his over-sensitive skin, branding him in a delicate way as the hand at his hip trails back and over the curve of his arse. She traces intricate patterns over his skin, talking him down in hushed tones and whispering quiet declarations of love. The intimate nature of the gesture coupled with the three little words that roll off of her lips is enough to give him pause but he lets himself enjoy it. She can’t help how she feels and no one ever said he had to love her back.

As his breathing finally evens out, John finds that he can’t ignore the stiffness in his knees any longer. With a quiet grunt, he lowers himself to the floor slowly, kneeling in front of Sarah as he strokes her hair with a sudden fondness. It’s genuine, which surprises him, and he’s not sure where it’s come from but he doesn’t question it. She’s looking at him the way she always does at this point — lips swollen and puffy, her hazel eyes begging him to take her apart.

And he will… He’s not the type to split without returning the favour; he just needs a moment to gather his thoughts, to lock them away before pinning her down. He isn’t sure that he wants to entertain the thought of Sherlock seeing him like that. Or maybe he does?

What would Sherlock say if he caught him like this? With his head between Sarah’s thighs, licking her open and pushing her to the brink as his fingers tease her relentlessly. Would he find it arousing? They’d never discussed their sexual preferences before but John had a feeling that Sherlock had to know that he was bisexual by now. Maybe seeing him with Sarah would be the very thing that Sherlock needed to finally express his intentions toward John one way or the other.

_ Only one way to find out…  _

An idea flickers to life in his mind’s eye and John tugs his phone from his coat pocket, shifting forward slightly. He locks eyes with Sarah as he unlocks the device, a curious expression on his face as the unspoken question hangs between them. He’s asking for permission before he pulls up his camera and he’s surprised when she nods her silent approval despite the heavy blush that warms her cheeks. 

With the utmost precision, John props the camera against a small stack of books nearby, double-checking the angle before turning his attention back to Sarah. It’s clear that she’s nervous — John’s nervous, too, if he’s honest with himself — but neither of them acknowledges it. The eroticism of what they’re about to do seems to outweigh any other concerns and John finds that he’s grateful for her cooperation.

As the dynamic between them begins to shift with the added knowledge that they’re being recorded, John dips his head and presses a gentle kiss to Sarah’s lips in a quiet attempt to calm her nerves. She huffs softly and he smiles into the kiss, lapping hesitantly at her lower lip as he strokes her hip. He has to convince her to relax. In order for his plan to have any hope of success, John needs her to let go, to forget the camera and the fact that they’re basically making their own sex tape. He needs her vulnerable and wanting beneath him just as she is every other time he’s gone down on her. 

Every aspect of the video has to be perfect. Every moan, every lap of his tongue, every sharp tug of her fingers in the short strands of his hair. Every possible opportunity to make Sherlock jealous has to be explored and every last possible hope John has of winning his best friend over has to be exhausted, because if this doesn’t get Sherlock’s attention, nothing will… 


End file.
